


where the twin suns set

by peradi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Deepthroating, Dream Sex, Ghost Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rare Pair, WHY CAN I NOT WRITE ANYTHING BUT PORN, crack fic sort of done seriously, finn being irresistible is my FAVOURITE TROPE OKAY, oh god save me i am going to hell, somewhere kylo ren is crying, sort of loss of virgnity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:49:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn dreams of a man with yellow eyes and a cruel smile, of two suns bleeding red over the horizon, of sand and distance and of a spirit guide with a very hands-on approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the twin suns set

The first time Finn gets an erection, he's twenty two and he's been with the Resistance for precisely a week. 

He's being shouted at by General Organa -- for being out of bed when he's meant to be resting -- when it happens. Just  _bam! --_ straight at attention, there you go, and he's never had one before and he's more than a little freaked out. 

"What's wrong with me?" he says, staring down at his crotch. 

Organa's eyebrows arch. Her mouth pops open and she blinks rapidly -- for once, she's lost for words 

"It's, uh. Oh dear."

 

\--

 

They screen his blood for  _everything_ and they find the trail-end of chemicals designed to surpress libido. 

"Oh _Force_ ," says Poe, and there's pity in his eyes, and Finn still does not understand.

"So," he says, "they...they stopped me wanting to have sex?"

"Yeah," says Poe, and Finn doesn't need to be Force-sensitive to taste the crackling waves of _hate_ pouring off his friend.  

 

\--

 

After that, the dreams start. He has them about everyone and everything. He dreams about boys and girls and every possible combination thereof. He dreams about Jessika Pava and the General, about Poe Dameron and Rey and even about Phasma, which is a dream no one should ever have. 

Poe has gone to great lengths to explain sex. He gave Finn some rather explicit holographs and a box of tissues and explained what to do when he had an erection (if alone: take care of business. If in company: tuck into waistband of boxers. This trick takes some mastery: more than once Finn has had to yank his shirt down to cover the poking-out tip of his cock.)

( _It looks like a mole-rat_ , Rey had cried out, delightedly, and he had never wilted so quickly.)

The dreams are vague and fuzzy, until they are not. 

 

\--

 

He's in the desert. Twin red suns slink towards the horizon, and sand murmurs under his feet. He's naked, and he should be cold, but he isn't. 

"Fancy seeing you out here," someone calls. 

Finn turns. There's a man, all feral smile and wild hair and sulphur-yellow eyes. 

(His eyes can't be yellow. Eyes aren't yellow.)

(This is a dream, he reminds himself. Eyes are whatever I want them to be.)

"Do I know you?"

"No," admits the man. He saunters closer. He's got the long, lazy stride of a predator; of a man who knows precisely how strong he is, and revels in his power. 

Finn's suddenly desperately, achingly hard. 

"I know you," the man says, as he draws nearer. "You shine out across the ages. The Stormtrooper who chose."

"Yup. That's me."

"The Traitor, they call you. Or the Hero. It depends who you ask, doesn't it?"

"Yup," Finn agrees. His dream-partners are not normally so philosophical. 

The man's yellow gaze crawls down Finn's naked body. "You're very pretty."

 _This_ is what he's used to. Heat rises on his cheeks. "Thank you. So are you."

The man's mouth crooks into a strangely lopsided smile, the corner of his lips pulled high as if by some invisible string. His teeth are very white, and seem almost sharp in the murk of the desert night.

"I haven't been called that in a long time. I haven't been  _anything_ in a long time. No one listens to me anymore. That's the problem with being dead."

"Oh. Uh. Sorry about that?"

"Don't be. I was a dick. I've been trying to talk my grandson _out_ of being a dick, but he's not listening to me -- so I have to find other ways to amuse myself."

The man's standing in front of Finn now. He smells of iron and fire and hot sand. His eyes simmer with a very familiar heat, and Finn gulps audibly.

"This is your dream Stormtrooper. Tell me. What do you want me to do?"

He's so close that Finn feels the fever-warmth of his breath. His face is lean and sharp and lovely, vulpine and cruel, and Finn swallows down his fear 

(just a dream just dream) 

and kisses him, trying to reroute this madness into something he's more familiar with. The man opens his mouth up readily, tipping Finn's chin back, lapping into his mouth. He tastes exactly how he smells: of metal and blood and  _fury_ and Finn moans at the back of his throat as the kiss deepens and the stranger takes control, biting his tongue and his lips, grabbing the meat of his arse, stroking his cock with infuriatingly light fingers. 

"I want you to fuck me," Finn says, and to be honest he says it because it's the script he's used to, because this is a dream, because this is how his dreams go. 

The man with the yellow eyes barks out laughter. "Now  _this_ is the sort of dream quest I like. Much better than the  _go give him guidance Ani_ or  _he'll listen to you Ani_. He's too much like me. He won't listen to me. But you -- oh I like you. Want me to fuck you? Get on your knees; I want your throat first."

Finn collapses in the sand, reaching up with trembling, eager hands to the other man's belt. 

The robes he wears are strangely familiar: long and loose and brown, and Finn pauses a moment, rubbing the fabric between finger and thumb, trying to place where he's seen its like before. 

"Hurry up," snaps Yellow Eyes, a thrum of command in his voice that shoots straight to Finn's cock. He's painfully hard, leaking over the sand -- and, thankfully, since this a dream the sand doesn't chafe in the slightest; it glides over him, soft and sure as silk. "Before I change my mind."

Finn frees Yellow Eyes' cock, runs his hand along it. He's never sucked a cock in real life but his dream-self almost always knows what to do --

Except this time he doesn't. He stares at the cock and Yellow Eyes barks his hard, ugly laugh again. There's something faintly mocking about it. 

"Don't know what to do? Here, I'll help." He curls his fingers around his cock, splays the fingers of the other hand into Finn's hair. "Open up, Stormtrooper."

Finn obliges, and the man feeds his cock into Finn's throat millimetre by painful millimetre. He doesn't stop when Finn gags, only holds himself there. "Swallow," he orders, "swallow and  _gulp_ and let me in."

Finn swallows around the intrusion in his throat. The man slides in further, until he's nestled right at the back of Finn's palette -- and then Finn swallows again and  _oh God_ his cock slides in that last little bit and he's there, right there, wedged into the wet channel of Finn's throat and Finn's shaking, full, stretched, his jaw aching already. 

"It's been  _far_ too long," the man coos, and pulls out a fraction, only to shove back in again. Finn's  _quivering_ \-- he's so hard it  _hurts_ \-- and the sharp, bitter taste of semen is registering on his tongue as the man leaks pre-cum into his mouth.

(I should know his name, seems wrong to be sucking him off without knowing it.)

(Just a dream. Just a dream.)

"That's it. Careful of your teeth. Oh  _yes_ \-- like that -- beautiful boy  _take it_ \--" and Yellow Eyes coos encouragement and Finn closes his eyes, losing himself. His throat  _bulges_ obscenely with the outline of the other man's cock and, almost cheekily, Yellow Eyes trails his index finger along the column of Finn's neck. "You're gorgeous like this. You're  _perfect_."

Finn  _whines_. 

"Want me inside you?" says the man. 

Finn nods. Well. Tries to nod. Kind of difficult when he's got his face pressed against the stranger's flat stomach. 

Yellow Eyes shoves him away. Finn gasps and coughs and splutters, drool splitting from the corners of his mouth, but he's smiling like an idiot. 

"Enjoyed that, did you?"

"Oh  _yes_."

"Do you feel you need guidance," the man says, inexplicably, as he shoves Finn onto his hands and knees, trailing one palm over his buttocks, "you know -- guidance in your life, in the Force, in your destiny?"

"I don't think I have a destiny. And I don't know anything about the Force."

"I'm going to teach you," the man says. "I'm your new spirit guide."

"Uh. Thanks? But I don't really have a destiny -- that's for people like Rey --"

"Do  _not_ mention her when I'm about to fuck you," says the man, and shoves a spit-wet finger into Finn's arse. Finn's mouth hangs open on a cry, and he sags against the sand. "But I've had it with the last guy I tried to guide. He won't listen.  _You_ on the other hand," and here he crooks his finger, nudges Finn's prostate and the world goes white and star-bright, "are far more  _responsive_. How many fingers do you normally use on yourself?"

Finn flushes. "Uh --"

"If you don't tell me," singsongs Yellow Eyes, "I'm just going to go ahead with all five and I don't think you want that."

"Two!" Finn blurts out, blushing harder, heat unspooling in his gut, his cock leaking precum until it puddles beneath him. 

"There we go."

Two fingers slide into him. There's not enough lube -- spit doesn't count, and dries far too quickly in the sun (but it's a dream, a dream, why would normal rules apply?) -- and it is a dry, ugly burn as the man fingers him open. 

It hurts. 

(it's a dream -- why does it hurt?)

Finn mewls as Yellow Eyes starts to loosen him up, nudging at his prostate -- every time the nodule is touched he sees stars and spires and everything wonderful -- and rubbing inside him. 

There's a hard, throaty sound as Yellow Eyes spits again. 

"Next time," he says, "dream up some lube. This'll feel  _great_ for me -- but not sure about you -- oh, huh, there we go."

Finn has, somehow, created a packet of lube out of nowhere. 

"It is a dream," he points out. 

The man's laugh is dark and  _hungry_. "Something like that."

This time his fingers are cool and wet and Finn sighs as the push is easier, the sensation  _better_ , the sand-dry burn gone. 

The man slips a third finger in. It goes in easy, Finn's rim opening up to accommodate, and Yellow Eyes hums in appreciation.

"I'm _so_ going to be your mentor from now on," he says, pulling his fingers out with a filthy slurp. Finn thrusts his hips back, and the man obliges: he lines his cock up and shoves in so hard that the breath is punched from Finn's lungs. "Like that, Stormtrooper?"

Finn can only mewl and gasp and nod. Words are utterly beyond him. He's filled to the brim, sparking pleasure-pain, bolts of white fire running through his bones and then the man starts to _move_ and it gets ten thousand times better and ten thousand times worse. 

Nothing -- no dream, no half-guilty fumble -- has _ever_ felt like this.

"Force around me, you're _tight_. Never fucked anyone before?"

"Uh...in dreams, yeah --"

"But this isn't a dream," says the man, hunched hot and huge over Finn's back, tilting his hips and driving in deep. Finn feels split asunder. He drops to his elbows, his forearms quivering with effort. "This is something else entirely and you _know_ it."

"I -- uh -- oh _yes_ \--"

"You're mine," the man pants in his ear. His teeth catch at Finn's neck, skim his jugular, and a frisson of fear dances down Finn's spine. "You're all mine and I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

With that, he pulls out, flips Finn over and slams into him again, hoisting Finn's thighs up high. Face to face, and all Finn sees are the mad angles and shadows of his face, the glow of his eyes.

Their lips touch. It can't really be called a kiss: they pant into each other's mouths, licking and biting, and Finn tastes blood and doesn't know who it belongs to.

"Next time," the man promises, "I'm going to choke you before you come. You'd like that -- my cock in you and the Force around your throat and --" his breath starts to stutter, his hips pistoning in harder and Finn wraps his legs around Yellow Eyes's waist and yanks him close, yanks him in _deep_ and Yellow Eyes comes with a shout, his release shooting up inside Finn, wet and warm. 

It only takes two strokes of the man's fist for Finn to follow him. He comes over his own belly and collapses boneless and weak in the sand. The sky is still blood red. The twin suns still melt towards the ground.

"Wow," Finn manages. "That was...something."

"You've got a destiny Finn," says the man. His smile is red and bright as a battlefield-morning. "I'm sure of it."

"Are you going to make one up because you want to fuck me again?" Finn says, languid with exhaustion, a spill of fucked-out broken-boned _mess_.

"Yes," the man says. He kisses Finn's bruised, split-open mouth. "Now, wake up. I'll see you soon."

 

\--

 

"I had the _strangest_ dream last night," Finn says to Poe the next morning in the mess hall. 

"Didya fall out of bed?" Poe says. There's a snigger tucked away in the corner of his smile. He reaches out, touches Finn's throat. 

Finn flinches. He's feeling tender for some reason.

"Why?"

"You've got a great big hickey there. Can you see?"

Poe fumbles in his pocket, pulls out a shaving mirror. Finn angles it up with shaking hands and yes, there, storm-dark and livid is a bruise stamped on the side of his throat. Teethmarks frill around the edge of it.

 __He tilts the mirror so he can look at his face. He sees wide black eyes, a nervous set to his mouth, and split lips -- like someone's been grinding his face into sand.

 

 

 


End file.
